


Memory

by AtropaAzraelle (Polyoxyethylene)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Flash Fic, M/M, No Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 04:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15766356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyoxyethylene/pseuds/AtropaAzraelle
Summary: You have me, that touch tells him, the message coursing along his skin and through his nerves,always, and Ignis knows that's all he'll ever need.Gladnis Week 2018: Day 3





	Memory

“It's gonna be a rough trek.”

Gladio's voice cuts through the gloom that is Ignis's world, that is, currently, everyone's world, and for a moment there's a spark of light and warmth that Ignis feels himself turning towards like a flower seeking the sun. “I'm sure I can handle it,” he answers, a smile playing across his lips.

Gladio gives a huff. It's half laughter, and half agreement. He's long since learned that Ignis is more than capable of looking after himself, even now, after everything he's lost. “Yeah, I know,” he replies. The deep rumble of Gladio's voice builds a picture in Ignis's mind. The memory of dark hair, and fiery brown eyes is reconstructed every time.

Gladio doesn't look like that any more, Ignis knows. Gone are the short tousled strands at the crown of his head, and he's felt for himself the soft lines that have formed around Gladio's eyes, and at the corners of his mouth. Downturned lines, he thinks. Years of worrying about everyone else and trying to keep people alive even if he can't them safe have etched their paths in Gladio's skin, writing the story of these troubled times across his face.

The Gladio that is rebuilt by his voice is a younger one. He had worries, certainly, they both did. Concerns for family, and friends, grief for those lost along the way, doubts that they'd ever make it, they all existed back then, too, but they hadn't weighed so heavily on Gladio's face that they could be seen. Or felt. The Gladio Ignis rebuilds smiles easily, grins like a cheeky schoolboy at the prospect of an early start to go fishing, laughs like no other sound can express the elation in his heart.

“Got everything you need?” Gladio asks. The sound imbues more life into Ignis's memory. He remembers the scar down Gladio's face, where a blade had skipped over his eyebrow and missed his eye by centimetres, giving Gladio some bad boy charm to add to his unfairly good looks.

Ignis's fingers curl around empty air. He hasn't used his stick for years now. It lies against a wall in Lestallum, where Ignis had put it down before training and then made a point of never picking it up again. It's still there, he's told, gathering dust; a totem that's taken on superstitious significance in the intervening weeks and years. No one dare touch it now, not until the light returns. It's become tied to the survival of the Glaive and their ability to fight; disturbing it would bring bad luck onto them all.

Gladio's hand settles on the small of his back and takes Ignis's breath away. His nerves spark urgent messages, tiny movements pulling every hair to stand on end, radiating outwards from where the heat of Gladio's palm presses to his spine. Frisson runs over Ignis's skin like a current, and draws up other memories of Gladio to add into the picture he's rebuilding.

Gladio's face, cheeks and mouth flushed with exertion, lips parted and breath panting, small beads of sweat trickling by slow degrees down his skin. Ignis's hands trembled slightly as he reached up and slid his fingers into Gladio's hair, tugging him down to kiss again and steal his breath. Ignis's whole body had been shaking under the surface, with pleasure, and exertion, and a little bit of nerves. The ache between his legs had been sweet and intoxicating, and the gentle touch of callused fingers had stolen his breath and his thoughts. The fullness of having Gladio inside him for the first time had been strange, and intimate, and beautiful, but it was the look in Gladio's eyes that had scorched itself across Ignis's memory. He'd looked at Ignis with such wonder and tenderness, the shiver of his orgasm had barely left his limbs, and Ignis had never been looked at like that by anyone else.

Gladio had fallen asleep in his arms that night, and so many nights after. When the darkness had come for Ignis so long before it had come for everyone else, Ignis had slept in his arms, safe and protected even though he hadn't wanted to be at the time.

He'd been so stupid and stubborn, back then. He still was, but Gladio, then as now, had held him anyway and Ignis had told himself that Gladio needed it, so it was okay to accept it. It had taken time for Ignis to admit to himself that it wasn't solely for Gladio's benefit that he allowed himself to be touched and held.

“I believe so,” he answers, feeling his skin thrum where Gladio's hand lies over his clothes. 

_You have me_ , that touch tells him, the message coursing along his skin and through his nerves, _always_ , and Ignis knows that's all he'll ever need.


End file.
